


Ice Cream on Lips (Anxieties Blissed)

by JoyLove611



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Boys Kissing, Ice Cream, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mark Lee (NCT) is Dumb, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Rants, Slow Burn, Soft Huang Ren Jun, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, this is basically word vomit that would've been more relevant before 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyLove611/pseuds/JoyLove611
Summary: The memories of the weeks from before were blurred and delirious due to the utter exhaustion that racked Mark's mind, body, and soul. But the incidents that stood out often featured this little convenience store on the corner of the block; with these little, insignificant moments that highlighted a certain bright-eyed, equally exhausted duo who just so happened to hold the key to Mark's craving.So, really, if anyone should know if he was just atouchmore mentally unstable than the average high school student, it should probably be these two utter strangers.(or the fic where Mark has Issues(TM) and won't admit it to himself and Renjun is impatiently worried.)





	Ice Cream on Lips (Anxieties Blissed)

**Author's Note:**

> hey, uh, might want to double-check those tags and make sure that you're comfortable with what is mentioned. also, this is my first nct fic so sorry if the chemistry between members isn't all that accurate or if their personalities don't shine through.

"Why do you have twenty different brands of ice cream in your freezer?"

Mark, in the middle of placing another spoonful of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food into his mouth, gave Renjun, who stood in front of his refrigerator with a look of pure judgmental fascination, a startled, wide-eyed glance before shrugging bashfully. "Dunno," he muttered around the fresh mouthful of marshmallow and caramel. "I just like trying out new flavors and stuff."

"So do I, but that's usually when I'm standing in front of a menu at an actual ice cream shop." Renjun took residence on the cushion next to Mark with a bar of Häagen-Dazs Chocolate Fudge held captive in his hands, their curled thighs and feet melding against one another. "But, seriously, how do you even have enough money for all of that? Some of those brands are overpriced as hell."

Mark shrugged again and allowed the cold, moist bowl of the spoon to rest hesitantly against his sticky lips. "I work, save up some cash, splurge, suffer for a few weeks." He brought his gaze up to meet Renjun's flat one, a wry smile spreading the caramel hot and thin along the metal surface at the scripted reaction. "Y'know, the usual."

Renjun offered Mark a hard roll of his eyes before tugging open the wrapper of his ice cream bar and delicately pulling the dessert free by its thin, wooden stick.

Mark watched as the younger took the first bite; as the chocolate coating _crunched_ delightfully under the pressure of Renjun's pearl-white teeth; as the unearthed, hardened fudge gave resistance to Renjun's persistent jaw; as the younger pulled himself away from the bar and licked his lips with a fudge-stained tongue, spreading the sweet substance along the red of his lips; as Renjun sent a quick glance his way, eyes meeting his for but a brief moment—

Mark violently ripped his legs off the couch—away from Renjun's—and bolted upward the moment the soles of his feet met the worn wood of his living room. "I just remembered I have an essay to finish," he muttered much too urgently. He made his exit quickly afterward, not allowing Renjun even a moment to process his actions and words while he was still in the same room.

Safely stood behind his bedroom's door, Mark breathed in deeply and allowed the adrenaline pumping through his blood to flush out along his skin. His hands shook with dissipating panic, and he belatedly realized that he had taken his spoon and ice cream with him, the latter dribbling innocently onto the carpet below.

He groaned at the mess and tilted the pint skyward, watching as the thick, almost-liquid mixture honeyed down the polished cardboard walls. He eyed the fudge fish with a ravenous gaze as the caramel spilled over it, making it shimmer and gleam in the summer sunlight that drifted through the parted curtains.

With a hand that still quivered, Mark raised his spoon, dug it deep into the mixture of chocolate, and placed the glob of sweet bliss into his dry, awaiting mouth.

 

 

  
_An addiction,_ his friends at work would often joke.

_A distraction,_ his friends outside of work would jest.

_A remedy,_ he would argue.

It didn't always have a label. It used to just be a simple want that everybody else who had the luxury and access to enjoy experienced at least once in a while.

Mark could clearly remember the first time he had ice cream. He was but a wee little six-year-old who was suffering in the summer heat-wave during a long day of waiting in lines at an amusement park. The rides were brief, a mere blur in the child's memory, but the thrill and rush gained during their experience was worth the wait.

That patience, however, dried up somewhere along ride five, along with Mark's throat.

His parents had been understanding and decided to shell out some extra money to keep their son from fainting underneath the blazing sun. They also figured that since he was such a good boy, he could have a little treat.

"Ice cream?" Mark questioned, eyeing the snow-white mound in front of him with faint curiosity. The paper bowl that contained the gentle dessert was thin enough to allow some of the condensed moisture to seep through onto the child's cupped hand, sending tender shivers throughout his baked body.

"You have to eat it before it melts, sweetie," his mother kindly explained, taking Mark's hand into hers and placing the plastic spoon that had been paired with the order into his flushed palm.

"Melts..." Mark mumbled absentmindedly. He stabbed the tip of the spoon into the side of the cream. It slid easily into the bowl of the utensil when he brought it toward him, leaving behind a smear of ivory whenever it shifted in turn to Mark's jerky movements.

After a moment's hesitance, mostly in part of Mark's reluctance to eat something foreign, Mark placed the spoonful of dessert into his mouth.

Mark could soundly conclude, even years later, that that simple introduction to the dessert was what would single-handily ruin his sense of independence.

Back then, however, even when Mark started to eat it on a relatively regular basis, it still did not have a label. He was simply seen as a kid living his life to the fullest and enjoying it during the process.

It was high school, he swore with all his might, that had marked its brand on him in the mildest of ways.

 

 

  
Mark was working on an assignment that was due in roughly six hours, and he was starting to regret taking A.P. Chemistry while signing up for Track. Practice that day had dragged on until late into the afternoon, and by the time Mark had gotten back home, backpack ladened with equipment and the day's assignments, it had been nearing dusk.

So, he had skipped dinner, sat himself down, and gotten to work on the four-paged package that had been handed out the morning during Algebra II, and only just finished it when the clock struck eleven.

The only other assignments he had left were an essay that was due the next week and some finishing touches on a report of an experiment they had done that day. He _would_ have checked over his work and made sure that he had gotten the details and measurements and such correct and ready to turn in, but...

He had a craving.

It was a craving he had been feeling for the past week or so, and it was almost like a regular routine by that point: go to school, get home, do some work, and then reward himself with the sweet bliss of creamed ice on his tongue.

So, with a loud groan and an even louder protest from his aching joints as he stretched his taut body, Mark made his swift, careful escape from his sleeping house and tip-toed down to the convenience store a few blocks away.

He entered the store with casual exhaustion, making a bee-line toward the back, where the freezers hid. He approached the ice cream section and allowed his eyes to roam across his options, before settling soundly on a quiet half-gallon of Neapolitan that nestled comfortably along the freezer's tiled floor. He arrived at the checkout counter with his wallet at the ready, absentmindedly thumbing through a few bills as he stared listlessly at his reflection in the polished tiled surface.

"Before I give you the price on this thing, I think I should give you fair warning that you shouldn't eat this all in one sitting."

Mark startled at the sudden conversation that wasn't the mandatory exchange of information and stared at the cashier with an expression he was sure turned out to be deer-caught-in-the-headlights-esque if the cashier's amused grin was anything to go by.

Mark gaped and sputtered for a few seconds more before gathering about all the wits he was going to use on the remainder of his experiment's report to respond with an eloquent, "Okay?"

The cashier returned the reply with a scoff-turned-smile, before calling an end to the conversation and scanning the bar code of the ice cream.

Mark, still bewildered by the out of place interaction, dazedly handed over an odd handful of bills he didn't bother to count as the cashier announced the price. He was lucid enough to mutter out a "keep the change or whatever," before making to grab the container before the cashier could properly bag it.

"You know," the cashier called out just as Mark allowed the automatic doors to let the fresh, night breeze blow through the entrance, "I only say that because I see you in here every night, and every time you've only bought ice cream."

Mark blinked, churning the words about in his sleep-hazed mind, before nodding dumbly at the cashier's words. Mark didn't really understand what the two things had to do with one another, but he figured if he faked it until he made it, he could get into his bed sooner.

Mark could see the cashier roll his eyes, and he felt a slight pang of offense run through his body, but couldn't hold onto the feeling for very long before exhaustion washed over him. The cashier raised his voice so it could be heard from Mark's distanced position, over the quiet rustling of faraway nature.

"I'm saying you should cut back on the ice cream, dude," were the blunt words to slap Mark awake for the second time that night.

Mark gave the cashier a scrutinizing gaze, spotting his thin name tag amongst the obnoxious pink of uniform, and huffed when he couldn't locate a hint of malice in _Renjun's_ eyes.

"Well, thanks for your concern," Mark spoke, voice lofty and deadpanned, "but I think I know how to take care of myself."

Renjun held his arms up in mock surrender, causing a spike of annoyance to run through Mark's blood at the amused grin blossoming along the cashier's lips. "Alright. Guess I'll leave you to your stomachache and diabetes, then."

Mark huffed haughtily and didn't want to allow Renjun the satisfaction of a reply, so he turned away from the store and marched back home, ice cream tucked firmly underneath his arm.

 

 

 

(Mark slumped over his desk, bangs matted against his slick forehead, and groaned pitifully around the final spoonful of strawberry-coated-vanilla as his stomach gurgled ominously around the earlier consumptions of chocolate-vanilla.

He didn't feel too hot at Track the next morning.)

 

 

  
The following night resulted in Mark debating if the awkward interactions that were sure to come were worth his necessary remedy for the night, but he figured that the utter bliss he would receive after consuming the treat far outweighed a few judgmental glances his way.

And so, there he stood, gaping very obviously from the open doorway at the cashier that was most definitely not Renjun.

"Welcome," the not Renjun cashier said unsurely, effectively snapping Mark out of his unintentional daze.

"Ah, right. Thanks." Mark smartly ducked his head away from view behind the display of trending snacks. A faint burn of broiling blood marked the nape of his neck, but he ignored it in favor of getting his ice cream and _getting out of this awkward situation._

He eventually braved the checkout counter after making his selection of the night: Baskin Robbins' Honey Almond.

Just as he was shelling out the six-thousand won he owed, a distant, familiar voice called out from somewhere to his right: "Back for more?"

Mark whipped his head around toward the cocky voice, throat working around the sudden draught that had invaded upon locating a long face whose lips sported a much too satisfied grin.

"For your information, I rationed it out for a solid three hours," Mark blurted out, brain working into overdrive to avoid the inevitable teasing and prodding.

Renjun replied with his lips peeling back to reveal pearl-white teeth, a gentle snaggletooth making its shy appearance. "Wow, that's impressive. How's your stomach? Think it can handle any more late night sugar?"

Mark blustered and felt the boiling blood spread from his nape to what he could soundly conclude as the rest of his head. His brain, a mess from exhaustion, sugar neglect, and stressful social interaction, fizzled and popped under the heat and pressure; a slow-roast if it ever was one.

"Perfectly fine, excuse you," was the broken speech Mark offered to the conversation. He could feel the other cashier's gaze bore into his flared up side-profile, probably wondering what the literal fuck was happening during his shift.

Or not, if the guy's next words directed at Renjun were anything to go by: "Leave the poor guy alone, Renjun."

Renjun offered—Mark gave a quick, not at all subtle glance down at the cashier's name tag—Jeno an exasperated frown, the gleeful spark in his eyes fading out at the intervention. "This is why you're no fun, Jeno."

"What? Is it wrong to stop you from bullying some stranger?"

"He's not a stranger, genius. He's a regular here, and you would've known that by now if you actually bothered to clock in for your shifts."

"Well, excuse _me_ for having a life outside of this store."

And their bickering continued at a steady, almost practiced pace, as though the topics and discussion itself were argued and poured over regularly.

_Familiar,_ Mark's faltering brain eventually concluded.

"Attempting to take care of the cats you're allergic to is _not_ having a life, no-jam."

_Very_ familiar.

Jeno, ultimately seeing no point in maintaining their banter, turned toward Mark with an apologetic smile, eyes becoming gentle crescents. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, and that you had to deal with this guy for who knows how long." He threw a faux dirty glare in what Mark presumed to be Renjun's direction, now moved from Mark's right to his left. "He's a brat who keeps forgetting his manners."

There was an indistinct mutter from where Mark continued to presume Renjun was, words and the meaning behind them lost amongst the noise of plastic baskets clattering against one another.

Jeno responded in turn to Renjun's actions with a strained smile in Mark's direction.

Mark took the hint and grabbed his purchased pint and speed-walked out into the streetlamp-lit road, throwing a hasty, "Pleasure meeting you" over his shoulder.

 

 

  
The previous night's encounter and interactions were fresh on Mark's mind when he went to school the following morning, a solid four hours of sleep gained during the interval. As such, Mark's thoughts wandered and drifted through the lessons being lectured to the rest of his classmates. He was, fortunately enough, not forced to volunteer to answer any of the questions written on the board. Or maybe he was, and he was just so utterly out of it that the teacher just decided to let him float away from the rest of the class and watch as he drowned under the neglected work.

One could never know when they were too busy wondering what ice cream flavor they should buy twelve hours later.

"Hey, dude, where the actual hell did your eyebrows go?"

Mark startled so violently that his desk rocked with his jolted weight, and he had to allow himself a few moments to recover from his self-inflicted injuries.

"What?" he managed to croak some handful of minutes later. He blearily looked up to the face that was suddenly turned around in their seat and staring at him with some alien expression.

Mark belatedly recognized the face to be Yukhei's when he heard his classmate's familiar, husky voice sound out the words, _"Where'd your eyebrows go, dude?"_ in sharp, clear English.

_"What?"_ Mark repeated, not understanding what topic could have possibly been discussed beforehand for his eyebrows to make a sudden appearance in conversation. _"They're on my—face?"_

Yukhei gave him a pinched look that had _are you sure about that_ written all over it. "I don't think so. You should probably look in a mirror, _bro_."

And he just turned right back around in his seat and left Mark to pause and process his words with much difficulty.

After much hemming and hawing over whether or not he should excuse himself (it was a free block, but that didn't stop Mark from hesitating any less), Mark finally stood from his seat and informed the substitute that he needed to use the restroom. He was pardoned after a moment of startled, exposed staring. A cold flush broke out across Mark's body at the pointed glance toward his forehead—his _eyebrows_.

The classroom was conveniently placed near the side of the building where the bathrooms were, and the hallways were clear of loitering students and staff members, so Mark made quick work of the few meters or so between the door he just exited and the Febreze-ridden bathroom entryway. The moment he entered the bathroom's empty space, Mark bolted toward the sinks and stared at the meter long mirror that stretched long and thin on the wall above them.

The image that greeted him was mortifying, to say the least.

The skin that was _supposed_ to be covered and protected by layers of coarse, thin hairs was flushed an angry cherry that was beginning to mellow out into a frustrated rose. Mark noted that the faint, almost unnoticeable tingling he had been feeling blossom along his brow was probably in relation to that.

Lastly, there was the matter of his actual eyebrows.

_God_ , his _eyebrows_.

Patchy and faded, his left eyebrow took the brunt of whatever godforsaken force had ruined his facial makers. The raven hairs that sprinkled themselves, sparse and microscopic, were right along the edges of his eye sockets and proved themselves to be the only leftovers of the once prim facial features.

"What the _fuck_ ," was all he could manage because, honestly, _what the fuck_.

 

 

  
("Bro, what even happened?" Yukhei had asked the moment Mark defeatedly slumped back into his seat.

Mark glanced down at his hands—at his fingernails, and furrowed what little he had left of his eyebrows at the hair follicle snugged nice and deep underneath his index finger's nail.

"I dunno, man," was what he ended up answering with, tucking his traitorous hand underneath the meat of his thigh.)

 

 

  
"I looked it up," Renjun announced after week three of Mark's continued missing eyebrows, "and it's apparently some sort of mental disorder that makes you have this irresistible urge to pull out your own hair."

"That sounds like the fakest shit," Jeno commented, lazily pushing a pretzel stick between his puckered lips. He paused upon the sharp glare and startled gaze sent his way by Renjun and Mark, respectively. "...Is what I _would_ say if I hadn't witnessed Mark-hyung pull out not only both of his eyebrows on separate occasions, but also his fucking _eyelashes_."

"Glad you're taking this seriously, Jeno," Renjun replied with a flat, disapproving look before looking back down at his phone's screen and scrolling through whatever text was providing him information. "Causes for this can be from family genetics—" He broke off, staring up at Mark with raised eyebrows. "Do your parents have missing eyebrows?"

Mark smiled wryly at the out of place question, just barely keeping his laughter from escaping by biting his lip. "I didn't notice anything amiss the last time I checked their foreheads."

Renjun nodded approvingly and went back to his phone, scrolling some more. "Another cause can be age—and that checks out because you're neither a preteen nor an infant." Some more scrolling, accompanied by Mark's bright, near-maniacal laughter. "Alright, cause number three can be from other disorders like OCD, anxiety, or...depression."

The sudden halt in conversation was stifling and suffocating.

Mark's mouth went dry at the implications, his brain stalling and rebooting as he attempted to deny the facts that stared him dead in the eye—as _Renjun_ stared him dead in the eye, equal parts astonished and concerned.

"Hyung." And the syllable felt heavy and ladened with apprehension, and Mark wanted _out_ of this situation. "Do you... I mean... You haven't known us for very long, but you would...you _would_ tell us if something was up, right?"

And Mark just kinda—stopped; a slight falter in the crossing time streams of his and Renjun's lives'.

The memories of the weeks from before were blurred and delirious due to the utter exhaustion that racked Mark's mind, body, and soul. But the incidents that stood out often featured this little convenience store on the corner of the block; with these little, insignificant moments that highlighted a certain bright-eyed, equally exhausted duo who just so happened to hold the key to Mark's craving.

So, really, if anyone should know if he was just a _touch_ more mentally unstable than the average high school student, it should probably be these two utter strangers.

"Yeah." Mark's answer was punctuated with an extremely audible crack in his voice, and just the tiniest hint of a warbled note, but the store's two other occupants allowed it a pass—only that once—because a situation as delicate as this shouldn't be shattered by a simple tease.

"Alright." Renjun looked back down at his phone and scrolled some more. "The fourth cause can be from a severely stressful situation." Another, much more timid glance in Mark's direction. "Been recently chased down an abandoned street by someone carrying a chainsaw?"

"Not that I can remember, no."

And they left the night on that note, a half-gallon of Blue Bell's Butter Crunch placed delicately into Mark's awaiting hands—on the house.

 

 

 

The tradition continued, along with Renjun's pesky, insistent insertion in Mark's life.

Mark _would_ go to another establishment to get his mood-lifting dessert, but the costs were dirt cheap compared to some cafes, and the fashion of eating in a container that conveniently had a lid was too pleasant to pass up.

So, there he was, in his senior year of high school, and having a _slight_ meltdown over the fact that the store's freezers weren't in working order.

"Hyung," Renjun spoke from his place behind the checkout counter, dutifully filling in for Jeno like it was his actual shift. "Hyung, you know those don't work, right? You can read the poster on the door, right?"

"Yeah, I can read," Mark replied, voice faint and small compared to the loud chirping of cicada just outside the door, which was propped open by a shopping basket to allow in whatever breeze may pass by because, apparently, the store's air conditioning was also not working.

"So then, why are you still here?" Renjun's tone of voice was a mixture of bemusement and genuine curiosity; a simple question that he expected to receive a simple answer to, Mark was sure.

But Mark _didn't_ know why he was still here—in this store, with this kid who suddenly came into his life like it was the most natural thing in the world; why he was still standing in front of the freezer section with some sort of slack-jawed expression that was sure to catch flies; why there was a sudden pressure in his stomach, and his throat, and his head.

_God_ , his _head._

"Fuck," he muttered, breathless and lost and defeated. He stumbled, legs weak, and collapsed into a nearby shelf that hosted a variety of chips before promptly tumbling down onto the tiled floor.

"Hyung!" Renjun's voice was distorted and compressed against the gentle humming inside Mark's ears, a pleasant company compared to the band of tension that threatened to blow Mark's brain out. "Hyung! Oh my God, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"'m tired," Mark murmured with a slur. His eyelids fluttered, light and tender, against the harsh, honey streetlamp that slanted its glow along the store's interior. "Kinda need a nap. Maybe. I dunno what's happening, Injoonie." His eyelids snapped open as he stared up at Renjun with a startled gaze. "I think I'm kinda freaking out right now."

Renjun gave him a pinched look that was probably supposed to look reassuring, but it came off as more of a grimace. "I think you need to breathe in deep and slow"—he tapped gently against the elder's compressed chest—"and get some oxygen to your brain."

Belatedly, Mark realized that his breathing was borderline shallow, and that he was breaking out in a cold sweat across every nook and crevice of his body, and that a violent tremor was taking over his hands, and oh, God, what's happening, what's happening, _what's happening_ —

"Hyung, breathe."

Gasping, grasping, Mark took that first breath, and suddenly everything felt clearer.

 

 

  
("Wanna talk about it?" Renjun had offered hours after the incident, handing over a bottle of water to Mark—the third one that night.

Mark chugged the iced liquid that burned through his throat in the calmest of ways before answering in the flattest tone he could manage in his shaken state:

"No.")

 

 

  
It was _after_ high school, however, that people gave it a label. Whatever specific noun they so chose from their available vocabulary still carried along the same message: that it was a negative habit with negative impacts.

But Mark thought differently—ever since that incident, that was.

Because the thing that was able to calm his jittery, frayed nerves had been the delectable dessert. Spoonful after spoonful while bundled underneath the night's additional covers, the cold sweat that seemingly pooled beneath his skin slowing its production during his self-labeled healing process.

So, a remedy it was.

 

 

  
And that self-proclamation was what brought Mark where he was today: Hiding, drowning his anxieties in neat, packaged pints filled with simple sweets with simple results.

"Hyung?"

Mark startled from his stupor, just then registering that he hadn't actually started on the essay he had opened the document for hours earlier.

"Hyung?" Renjun's muffled voice called out. It struck Mark as odd that the younger hadn't already barged into his room, fuming from the ears at his lack of host manners and _how could you just leave your honored guest alone in the living room with nothing to do?_ "Did you fall asleep?"

"Perfectly conscious, Renjun," Mark quipped, typing down a half-assed introductory before saving and closing his document seconds before Renjun slammed open his bedroom door with a huff of exasperation.

"Answer me the first time I call for you, then." Renjun collapsed next to Mark on his bed, a pint of Blue Bunny's Bunny Tracks rolling out from his grasp and landing dutifully next to Mark's bare thigh. "I come bearing drugs."

"Not a drug," Mark muttered bitterly, picking up the dented container and ripping the lid and plastic seal off in rapid succession. He reached for the spoon he had used earlier, traces of saliva and smeared caramel marked on the otherwise clean bowl.

"Might as well be for you."

Silence lulled between them, warm and natural, punctuated by the light munching granted by Mark as he worked his way through the chocolate bunnies that littered the caramel infested cream.

Renjun's presence was a familiar thing by that point in time. It was expected of the younger to visit whenever there wasn't a class in session for him, regardless if Mark was actually present or not. Traces of Renjun wafted through Mark's otherwise bland apartment: a few jackets owned by the younger strewn over the back of the living room's couch; an extra pair of house slippers purchased by Mark because _might as well, right?_ ; and that undeniably home-bringing scent of jasmine that Renjun became fond of spraying over every centimeter of his body.

"You're not working on your essay," Renjun whispered into the pillow he had shoved underneath him.

"Nah," Mark replied evenly, falling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, the posters lining his wall—anywhere _but_ Renjun. "I got bored and just kinda spaced out."

"And also decided to get rid of half of your eyebrows again."

"Damn, again?" Mark self-consciously lifted his fingers to his brow, pads of his tips gliding along the bumps and ridges of his forehead and—yep, there was only smooth skin laying bare where half an eyebrow was supposed to be, punctuated by a few stray, coarse hairs. "I think I need you to be there to stop me when I start doing that, man. I don't even _notice_ I'm doing it until you point it out."

Renjun scoffed and slapped a hand down on Mark's bare leg, causing the older to jolt at the sudden, harsh contact. "Then don't hole yourself up in your room next time, genius." The words were joking, but Mark could hear the genuine concern in the younger's voice, and that only made him feel all the more shameful about the situation. "No need to get all flustered about it, hyung. I understand that school work is more important than entertaining your friend."

Mark, still adamant on avoiding eye-contact with Renjun, shook his head violently, the back of his head assaulting his bed's sheets. "No, you're right. I should learn to just suck it up and deal with my guests when they come over."

"That's not the most positive way to put it, but alright, I guess."

Silence filled in the gaps of conversation, and Mark fidgeted at the presence: a light tapping of his spoon against the lip of the ice cream container; a slight jostle of his leg as it spread itself long and thin along the empty space of his mattress before curling back into itself once again; and his teeth nibbling along the inside of his lips, stretching the sensitive muscle taut.

"What's up with you today?" Renjun interrupted. An accusatory tone blended into the casual question and set Mark's nerves alight. His palms slicked themselves against the white-hot metal of the spoon's handle, the condensation of the ice cream container mixing and blending in with his flushed heat. "Why are you avoiding me? Why are you so restless?"

Renjun's attacks were relentless and blunt and _so_ like him.

"Whaddya mean?" Mark muttered against his slobber-covered spoon, saliva dribbling out the corner of his lips as the rest of his mouth went desert dry. "I'm just tired, is all. Nothing's up with me."

The third time silence invaded their conversation, Mark was flushed to the tips of his ears and considering evacuating his own home to avoid Renjun's calculating gaze.

But he didn't have time to contemplate his escape route because Renjun finally decided to take action.

With a grunt that startled Mark enough to drop his spoon against his cheek, Renjun pounced on top of the elder and caged him against the mattress with his thighs. His hands snatched out toward Mark's and pinned even those against the bed's sheets, making Mark lose his grasp on the ice cream container and sending its contents sprawled along the bedding.

"Renjun!" Mark gasped incredulously, gazing at his soiled sheets with offended eyes. "What the hell, man!"

"Look at me, hyung," Renjun demanded, shaking Mark's wrists punctually. Mark gave into the younger's command, making sure to provide him with a pointed scowl before he lost his edge. Renjun smiled in turn to Mark's compliance, sinister and gleeful. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

But he didn't get up, even after Mark maintained eye-contact for a solid ten seconds, puzzling the elder even further.

"Renjun?" Mark whispered quizzically. "Can you, like, get off of me, please?"

"Hold on," Renjun replied simply. Mark watched as Renjun observed him; his shifting eyes tracing his twitching, adrenaline-flushed skin features in their rawest form. "You're not getting enough sleep again," was the first comment the younger had to offer. "The skin underneath your eyebrows is starting to scar, so please, for the love of your own personal health, stop plucking them out; get some professional help if you need to. Stop biting your lips"—he flicked the chapped, peeling muscle free from the elder's teeth—"they're gonna start bleeding if you keep doing that." One last glance-over, slow and deliberate, before Renjun settled back on Mark's blown-wide eyes. "And tell me what's bothering you. Please."

Mark opened his mouth to deny anything was wrong with him, but politely clamped his jaw shut when realizing that it would be for naught; Renjun had already pointed out so many faults in his unraveling seams that it seemed impossible to deny it to both the younger and himself for any longer.

"Fine," Mark sighed, long and defeated. "But first, can you get off of me?"

Renjun's movements were hesitant and slow, as though he were afraid Mark was going to bolt from the room the moment he allowed the elder any sense of freedom. But Mark had already been beaten raw and exposed, so the shame from the earlier observation was the only thing keeping him tethered to the soiled mattress.

"This is gonna sound so stupid," Mark started off the moment the weight of the younger left his torso and settled on the space beside him.

"It's not stupid if it's affecting you so severely," Renjun countered smoothly. He placed a warm, comforting hand against Mark's forehead, pushing back his matted bangs and revealing the astonished gaze that the elder sent up to him. "Don't beat yourself up about whatever's been bothering you, hyung; we all go through a tough time in our lives', and it's always better to share it confidently with someone you trust rather than bottle it up inside."

The earlier abandoned ice cream grazed the side of Mark's neck and threatened to soak into the nape of it, but all the elder could do was stare up at Renjun like he had never seen the younger before. A new light shone on Renjun, and a film hazed Mark's sight to enhance the backdrop of fading sunlight; an angelic halo hovered gently above the younger's head.

"Ah," Mark exclaimed softly. "I think—I think I have a problem, Renjun."

"What is it, hyung?" Renjun prompted encouragingly, hand resting tenderly along the heated flesh of Mark's forehead.

"I'm stressed out about everything," Mark finally, _finally_ admitted. "I don't do well under pressure, but I'm somehow sometimes more productive when placed on a tight deadline. My mental state is in shambles on late nights in the library, but I'm ready and raring to go the moment the project is finished because that sense of accomplishment is just _so_ addictive.

"My body has been deprived of sleep since I first step foot on this godforsaken campus," he continued, voice unwavering and devoid of emotion as he proceeded to disassociate from himself, "but I find myself unable to find comfort in my own bed; thoughts cloud my mind of the near and far future that's too unpredictable to bring me any sense of peace. I can't settle on a goal and end up running myself ragged in an attempt to catch up with my dreams.

"I'm _tired_ , Renjun," Mark concluded, the first hint of salt stinging his eyes hitting hard and sudden.

Renjun continued to stay silent as Mark fought and lost against the tears welling and spilling out his eyes. Clear tracks of the salt-ridden, bitterly won liquid that stained Mark's cheeks as he allowed them to fall freely. A sob that was quick to be muffled behind a caramel-sticky palm gasped out into the open air, and it was then that Renjun folded in on himself to give the elder an awkwardly positioned hug.

Relief blossomed across Mark's chest when he felt Renjun's comforting touch surround him; relieved that he hadn't frightened the younger away from his sudden explosion of keen emotions.

When the sobs mellowed out into slight hiccups, and the tears ran dry and tight against Mark's soiled skin, Renjun pulled away from the elder's body and stared down at him with proud eyes. "I'm glad that you finally decided to open up," he spoke softly, trailing his fingers along the tear-tracks. "It must've been hard keeping all of this to yourself."

"I feel bad letting you see me like this," Mark admitted shamefully. "I'm older than you; I shouldn't be burdening you with my problems."

"You shouldn't worry about age when it comes to issues like these," Renjun scolded lightly. "We're friends, so you should come to me whenever you're in trouble, okay?"

Mark, reluctant to meet Renjun's gaze again after showing the younger the rawest side of himself, turned his head toward the wall and nodded softly.

Mark listened as Renjun released a noise that sounded like a fond scoff, and jolted slightly when he felt gracious fingers card their way through his hair. "Still can't look me in the eye, huh?" the younger teased, light and airy.

"It's embarrassing to cry in front of someone else, believe it or not," Mark responded with a slight pout on his lips. He could still feel Renjun's gaze trained on him even after his toss-away excuse, so he turned toward the younger with a sort of uncertain flicker of his eyes. "What? Why're you still looking at me?"

"You're still keeping something from me, aren't you?"

"No!" Mark clammed up when he realized that his response sounded far too panicked and hasty to come off as anything but suspicious. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Injoonie," he assured with much disinclination.

"Real compelling argument you've got there, hyung." Mark felt Renjun's weight shift, the mattress inclining toward the elder's and younger's conjoined body weight. "C'mon, hyung. Didn't you feel better after telling me what's been troubling you? Don't you want to release that tension in your shoulders?"

Mark flinched at the sudden, warm pressure digging its sharp fingers into the bridge of his shoulders. Mark curled in on himself as much as he could when he still laid on his back as he noticed the slow rise of Renjun's eyebrows.

"Why're you still on edge around me?" Renjun persisted, decreasing the amount of pressure he placed onto Mark's shoulders. "Releasing your worries out into the open and crying are both proven to be therapeutic methods in releasing tension, and yet you're still on pins and needles with me."

"It's nothing serious if that's what you're worried about," Mark muttered into the caramel-soaked bedsheets. God, it was bad enough he had basically broken down in front of Renjun, but now he was drilling him for something that he wasn't even ready to admit to _himself_.

"I consider this a pressing matter, actually," Renjun countered with practiced ease. "You've been acting strangely around me for the past couple of weeks, and I'm starting to suspect that I did something wrong."

"You didn't do anything, really." Mark's voice was high and trembling and on the verge of collapse as the memories of the past couple of _months_ flooded his mind: Renjun, bright and carefree, waltzing into Mark's apartment just after the clock struck three a.m. with a tub of cookies 'n' cream held high above his head; the tradition of movie marathons starting after the startling incident; the inane and lighthearted conversations whispered between the dawn air distracting them both from the pressures and expectations of their classrooms and jobs; their bodies huddled underneath a shared blanket, flushed against one another—

"You didn't do anything," Mark repeated, heart erratic and electric under his heaving chest.

_Love, love, love,_ echoed inside his head, but that couldn't be right because _lust, lust, lust,_ was all that washed over his body during those late nights.

"Uh-huh." Renjun was unimpressed. (Of course he was, the little shit.) "Want me to pin you down to the bed again?"

_No,_ was what Mark _meant_ to say, but his filter switched the words in his head and on the tip of his tongue around and what ended up coming out, breathless and blissful, "Yeah, actually," followed quickly by a mortified, "Oh my _fucking_ God," and Mark was off the bed and _out_ of that room in record time.

 

 

  
Mark didn't have a problem with homosexuality. He wasn't even all that surprised with himself when he found himself admiring a handful of his male associates with a less than platonic viewpoint. But that's where Mark drew the line, so to speak; admire but never touch. In the barest sense, one could even label it as a strictly physical thing of sorts.

So, when Renjun showed up and stayed a constant presence in his life, the simple little _wow, he's kinda cute_ comments that occasionally drifted through Mark's mind slowly refined themselves into _wow, I think I kinda love him_ over time.

And that terrified him.

 

 

  
Mark crashed at Donghyuck's place that night, too terrified to risk going back to his own apartment and seeing that Renjun was still there.

"Why is everyone barging in here like they own the place?" Donghyuck had muttered after allowing Mark through the front door.

Mark perked up at the complaint. "Who else is staying?"

"Jaemin and Jisung."

"Chenle?"

Donghyuck gave a flippant wave of his hand. "Visiting his family for the holidays like the loser he is." He gave Mark a suspicious glare as he slowly shut the door behind him. "You didn't invite Renjun and Jeno, did you? 'Cause I seriously have no more room for you greedy gremlins."

Mark offered a wry smile at the assumption. "Nah, just me tonight." He gave a long once-over of the living room before turning back toward Donghyuck. "Mind if I crash on your couch tonight?"

If Donghyuck had been surprised by the notion, the only reaction he offered was a stilted breath released into the still air. "Yeah, yeah. Fine, whatever. Just don't go complaining to me if you wake up to Jaemin pouncing on top of you."

Mark offered the younger a soft smile. "Thanks, Hyuck."

 

 

  
(Buried underneath the dusty comforter that Donghuck had unearthed from the couch's ottoman, Mark stared straight at the shadowed form of the television and listened to the hushed voices down the hall that were evidently unaware of their bedroom door being open.

"Why's Mark-hyung sleeping over?" Jisung's voice whispered harshly, inexperienced in speaking quietly purposefully.

"Dunno. I didn't bother drilling him for answers when he looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown," Donghyuck's gentle voice answered simply.

"You think he got into an argument with Injoonie?" Jaemin's curious voice wondered.

"Them? Arguing?" Donghyuck released a quick breath of disbelief. "I think Mark Lee just finally got his head out of his ass and doesn't know how to deal with the aftermath.")

 

 

  
Mark woke up, cotton-mouthed and dazed, and decided that he didn't quite fancy the idea of avoiding the potential love of his life.

But his damned anxiety spiked after he consumed what was _supposed_ to be a confidence-inducing breakfast, and now he was being forced out the front door with unspoken worries and fears smeared on his lips, right alongside the jam nobody had bothered to wipe off for him in their haste to evacuate him from the building.

With an indignant huff, Mark smoothed his sleep-crinkled clothes as best as he could with no mirror on hand and went on his way back to his apartment, counting his blessings that there were no classes that day for him.

 

 

  
"Ah," was the first exclamation to fall from Mark's lips when he gazed down at a very much asleep Renjun spread along his living room couch. He hadn't actually expected the younger to stay the night, and he began to feel guilty for leaving his friend alone for the night.

With careful, calculated steps, Mark made his way over to the couch while avoiding the grand majority of the particularly worn spots of floorboarding. Mark gazed down at Renjun's sleeping expression, noting with a wince the puffy red that kissed the rim of his eyes.

He gave a broad, sweeping glance around the environment of the living room before making a quick dash over to his bedroom. He dug out a spare blanket from underneath his bed and snapped it open and allowed the lingering dust to dissipate into the stifling air. He pattered back into the living room with the blanket tucked securely under his arm and grabbed a throw pillow that had fallen to the floor during Renjun's possible restless sleep.

Gently, anxiously, Mark lifted Renjun's head from its uncomfortable position lolling against the couch's cushion and placed the pillow underneath to support the younger's weight instead. He spread the thin blanket across Renjun's body in much the same manner, tip-toeing around the sofa's sharp corners to not disturb his guest's sleep.

Mark gazed down at his work with fond eyes, only to startle at the revelation of Renjun's opened eyes, boring deep and wide into his.

An "Oh," escaped Mark weakly. "You're awake."

"And you're back," Renjun deadpanned. He lifted his upper body off the couch's cushion with lethargic ease, stifling a yawn behind his palm once fully risen. "Wanna talk about it?" he questioned immediately, the syllables stretched and curled into the smothering tension as he stimulated his stiff joints. "Or are you gonna avoid the subject until I pin you down again?"

Mark smiled wryly at the exhaustion in Renjun's voice and waddled away timidly when the younger stood from the couch, sending Mark a contemplative glare during the process. "I dunno," he offered after directing his gaze pointedly down to the polished hardwood floor. "I'm still kinda working it out in my head."

"Then walk me through your process."

Mark fought against the urge to laugh. "It's not that simple—"

"Really?" Renjun interrupted. Mark jolted as he watched Renjun's feet stride over to him, entering his field of vision, a hair's breadth away from his own. "I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you did last time, though."

Mark's adrenaline was quick to make its presence known: a gentle roaring in his bloodstream; a chilling flush biting goosebumps free from his flesh; a palpitation stuttering his breath. "Th—this is more complicated..."

Renjun's hand—his comforting, grounding touch trailed Mark off from his sporadic thoughts, a sudden spark alighting the area of contact. "Then help me understand," and his voice was bleeding into a plea, and how was Mark ever to deny him now?

"Sit—sitting down," Mark, ever the wordsmith, said.

Renjun was quick to guide Mark over to the jasmine-scented couch, traces of the younger infused into the decrepit furniture.

Settled down, legs melting against one another, breaths intermingling, Mark spoke:

"You know how I'm not all that entirely straight?" he started off, sending Renjun an awkward sort of glance, the younger returning the sentiment with a curt nod. "Well, I've always known, so it's not like I'm in some sort of severe, homophobic denial right now. I was pretty chill with it; the occasional 'ah, he's kinda hot' moment never phased me. But that was it. I never actually got myself involved with someone else—romantically or...otherwise..."

The room was sweltering, and Mark did his best to fight against the urge to dunk his head in a bucket of ice water to avoid the heat of Renjun's loaded gaze.

With a prim clearing of his throat, Mark continued on, eyes opting to roam the rest of the stilted living room. "And you know how I have this issue of ignoring my problems until they become so bad that no amount of ice cream can fix them?"

"Very familiar with that, yes," Renjun quipped.

"Yes. Well, I think my issue is...you?"

Renjun blinked.

Mark blinked back, before sighing and continuing on. "The twenty brands of ice cream in my freezer aren't just there for the simple discovery of a newfound favorite flavor. They're also there in preparation to deal with my anxiety whenever you're around."

"I give you anxiety?" Renjun's voice was equal parts perplexed as concerned, borderline mortified.

"No," Mark was quick to deny. "Just—let me"—he gave an impatient wave of his hand around the general area of his overheating head—"walk you through my process."

Renjun fell silent at that, terse shoulders slacking just a hint.

Mark sighed and started over. "You give me what people these days call a 'gay panic,' but it's a little more complicated than that because it's not just a physical thing. It evolved over time as I got to spend more time with you and as I watched you grow up just a smidge. And, like I said before, I've never really been this involved with my person of interest, so I—"

He cut himself off as the blood in his head stilled; a sudden moment of clarity at the breach of truth that was soon to come.

"I think I kinda fell in love with you."

The air conditioning stilled with Renjun's breath, and Mark couldn't stop the blazing heat from coiling around his stomach even if he wanted to.

"I think that was kind of obvious, hyung," made its exit in a smooth jester and suddenly Mark was doused in the moment of cruel reality. "Don't look so shocked," Renjun said with stars winking in his eyes. "It'll make me feel bad."

"Bad how?" Mark asked because that was all his melting, churning brain could keep in touch with at the moment.

Renjun leaned impossibly closer, forehead melding against Mark's like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his hands followed suit, tenderly cupping both of Mark's cherry-red cheeks. "For taking advantage of your feelings," he whispered, a forbidden secret passed between the intermingling breaths of two separate beings, before bridging the gap between their worlds and pressing his lips evenly against Mark's.

 

 

  
(Renjun's introduction to Mark was a casual affair, so how was he to know that the elder was to soon end up being the core of his life?)

 

 

  
Renjun was in the midst of hounding after Jeno for forcing him to fill in for his shift when the gentle ringing of the front doors opening and closing jolted him out of his hazy fury.

Renjun looked up from his phone, curious as to what wandering soul dared to come to his store when midnight was just hushing the wildlife outside, and furrowed his brows when his eyes landed on a kid who looked to be around his age shuffling toward the back of the shop.

His gaze lingered on the back of the relatively young customer for a few moments more before ultimately trailing back toward his phone's screen.

 

**Renjun**  

you told me nobody comes during your shift  
**00:36**

**Jeno**

??? Yeah  
**00:37**

**Renjun**

_image attached_  
explain  
**00:38**

**Jeno**

Did you just take a picture of some kid without permission  
**00:39**

**Renjun**

details are irrelevant just explain to me why he's here at the store at midnight getting ice cream  
**00:39**

**Jeno**

Fuck if I know dude  
Some people just like having a midnight snack  
**00:40**

 

Renjun was about to send a wordy message that explicitly detailed how terrible of a beating he was going to receive later on in the day, when the bane of his working existence decided to ring up his purchase of the night.

Renjun took a calming breath and set aside his phone to scan the bar code on the gallon of Schwan's Brownie and Cookie Dough Dream (a highly unnecessary name for a flavor if Renjun's ever seen one). "Five thousand won," he read off the cash register's screen, tone flat and borderline bored.

As he waited for Ice Cream Boy to pay his due, Renjun observed just what kind of person who bought an entire gallon of ice cream at nearly one a.m. could possibly look and act like.

_Cute,_ was the conclusion he came to.

Ice Cream Boy was soft around the edges, but his baby face held the tell-tale wear of school life, and, honestly, Renjun probably didn't look any better. He was also kind of twitchy—wired, to be exact: eyes shifting to and fro from his wallet and to his prize of the night; peeling lips worried between clasped teeth; the slight jolt that went through his body every time a foreign object made a harsh noise from outside.

_Anxious,_ was what Renjun eventually changed his mind to, sending the distracted customer a wary glance before accepting his money.

"Please come again," Renjun spoke as soon as he handed over Ice Cream Boy's receipt. Ice Cream Boy gave a hesitant nod Renjun's way before snatching away his purchase and meandering his way back to the store's exit and disappearing into the milky midnight.

Renjun stared at the lingering effects of Ice Cream Boy's presence, before shrugging the occurrence off and promptly forgetting about it, in turn, to threaten Jeno even further.

 

 

  
The following week found Renjun filling in for Jeno, yet again, and Renjun scrutinizing Ice Cream Boy, yet again.

"Three thousand won," Renjun recited. That week, Ice Cream Boy looked even more exhausted than when Renjun had last seen him, which was worrying because if the guy was so damned tired, why was he staying up so late just to eat some cheap dessert?

"Keep the change," Ice Cream Boy said as he slid a smooth ten thousand won over the counter before dragging the tub of ice cream toward himself and hugging it to his chest and waddling out the store in a half-dazed sleep.

Renjun placed the bill into the cash register and pocketed the extra change. He pulled out his phone and rung up Jeno's number before he could stop himself.

_"What?"_ was what a sleep-stained voice answered with after the third ring.

"I think we've got a regular on our hands," Renjun stated plainly. "And if we've got a regular on our hands, that means you have to start pulling your own weight before I come over and strangle you in your sleep."

_"Why are you working as a cashier if you're not a people person?"_ Jeno sighed into the receiver.

"Because I like the math involved and it pays well enough."

Jeno snorted. _"Nerd."_ A yawn broke through Renjun's speaker, and he had to place his phone further away so that he didn't have to listen to the harsh _crackle_ against the receiver. _"Alright, alright. I'll take some time off from the shelter and clock in for the rest of next week. Is that good enough for you?"_

Renjun grinned and leaned against the checkout counter. "Thank you for offering to do your own job, no-jam."

Renjun hung up before he had to listen to Jeno rant on about how _having two jobs isn't that easy, Injoonie,_ and went on with the rest of his night in relative peace.

 

 

 

Jeno did not, in fact, clock in for the first day of the next week. Which, fine. Renjun found it fair; there was an unexpected event going on at the shelter that brought about better promotions and adoption rates, and Renjun was in full support of happy pets and families.

But that still didn't change the fact that Renjun had to deal with Ice Cream Boy's oddities.

The guy must've gotten used to the store or something because now he'd loosen up just a smidge. Renjun caught him muttering a list of some sort underneath his breath as he fished out his paid due, and Renjun figured that Ice Cream Boy had a busy night ahead of him. And that tugged at Renjun's shriveled up heartstrings because it was nearing one a.m. and just what kind of schedule did a high schooler have to have to look nearly as stressed out as Ice Cream Boy looked at that moment?

The formal transaction continued on in near silence, the sputter of the air conditioning being the only white-noise offered that night as the wildlife fell still outside. Renjun bid Ice Cream Boy farewell with that recited comment of promised return burned onto his tongue.

 

 

 

(By then, Renjun was starting to believe that Ice Cream Boy was following through with the polite urge.)

 

 

  
Come the second day of that week, Renjun was beyond exasperated with Jeno.

"You caught the flu." It wasn't a question, and Renjun knew that Jeno knew what his tone meant.

_"Hey, man. People don't wash their hands, and you know how my entire face gets kinda itchy during work."_

Renjun pinched the bridge of his nose at Jeno's weak attempt to pacify him. "This is why I keep telling you to stay _away_ from the thing you're allergic to."

_"But they're so lovable and cuddly!"_ Jeno then proceeded to clear his airways of whatever threatened to crawl up his throat for a solid two minutes, and Renjun was starting to feel a little guilty for getting on a sick person's case. _"Anyways, you're just gonna have to bear with our regular for a few more days; be a good boy and don't scare him away, please."_

Renjun rolled his eyes. "Like I would do that with security cameras around."

_"Attaboy."_

Renjun hung up before Jeno could offer any more cringe-y words of encouragement, right before Ice Cream Boy made his entrance.

"Welcome," Renjun called out, huffing lightly at the politely dazed nod sent his way. He noted the stumbled steps that fell in line with the aisles' tiles; the release of worn breath intermingling with the buzz of the freezers; the near-bruises waxing underneath sunken eyes that greeted him with hesitant acknowledgment.

_He got worse, somehow_.

Worry settled in quick when, while making his exit, Ice Cream Boy nearly toppled over with a stack of shopping baskets that stood out vivid and bright underneath the vibrant, fluorescent lights.

 

 

  
Come day three, Renjun was fully prepared to prevent an injury from occurring under his watch, but he found himself taut and anxious for no reason when the end of Jeno's shift came to a quiet conclusion with Ice Cream Boy showing no face.

The fourth day ended in much the same fashion, and Renjun was starting to believe that maybe Ice Cream Boy had just finished going through a weird phase.

Thursday went and broke that belief, along with Renjun's quiet tolerance.

 

 

  
Renjun wouldn't call himself an overly nosy person. Not as nosy as Jaemin, by fair comparison. He was just rightfully concerned over the general health of a regular customer and decided to voice the worries that were popcorning in his mind during Ice Cream Boy's disappearance.

He knew that he was stepping over some unspoken boundary with his snide comment, but that didn't stop it from slipping out when he glanced down at the half-gallon of pure regret. He expected a surprised, yet semi-touched glance sent his way and a quiet motion of acknowledgment before a quick exit.

What he _hadn't_ expected was an equally snide remark exiting an offended, pinched look of utter exhaustion.

And _that_ made him giddy with delight because this little game of back-and-forth could fuel his neglected urge to tease for _days_.

So, when Ice Cream Boy made a blustering exit with his half-gallon of future grief tucked defensively underneath his arm, Renjun was all too eager to introduce his new-found plaything to his recovering friend.

 

 

  
("I can't believe I wasted my precious Friday night just to watch you bully some rando," Jeno sighed in utter defeat, head hung low between his shoulders.

"You're just doing your job, remember?" Renjun supplied gleefully, high off his recent banter.

And the bubbly atmosphere was supposed to stay.)

 

 

 

They learned of each other slowly, carefully, like the delicate relationship budding between them would shatter and scatter along with the howling wind if they quickened the pace; if they were just a tad too bold.

So when the eyebrow incident worsened just weeks after they learned of one another's names (Mark admitting bashfully that he had the mandatory name tags to thank), Renjun was hesitant to call the elder out on it. But it was a sort of a slap in the face whenever Mark walked into the store, cheery and exhausted all at the same time, and had no eyebrows to scrunch up in his full-body laughter or eyelashes to bat in rapid succession in apparent bewilderment.

So, Renjun decided to take his second stance on the matter of Lee Mark's general well-being.

 

 

  
The atmosphere was stiff and awkward the following night, more on Renjun's behalf than his other two companions. The delicate relationship was shriveling, shrinking along the ragged edges and dampening the intended blissful atmosphere that Renjun had in mind while familiarizing himself with Mark.

Surprisingly, Jeno was quick to cut the tension on Renjun's side.

"There's no need to walk on eggshells around him, Injoonie," he cooed, pinching a large portion of Renjun's cheek fat and wiggling it contently. Renjun swatted the unwanted touch away and gave his coworker a blistering glare. Jeno laughed the attack off, carefree and relaxed. "All I'm saying is that he'll tell us _if_ there's something wrong when he feels ready. You're putting a message out there that says you're ready for him to come to you at all times, and I think that's just making him run further back into his shell."

Renjun's glare softened up into a twisted expression of troublesome worry. "I'm just trying to soften him up a bit so that he's more willing to tell us what's up is all..."

Jeno punched him lightly in the shoulder, startling the furrow between his brows away. "And _that's_ your problem right there: You're trying too hard to be someone you're not. What Mark-hyung needs right now is his regular normalcy; tease him, banter with him—be your regular old self, and he'll eventually feel content enough to tell us his burdens."

Renjun's furrow was quick to return, and he parted his lips to fire back another argument at how that somehow wouldn't work, when the door yawned open with its usual ring and the man of the hour was walking in with tension in his expression.

Renjun's fight left him the moment he met Mark's wide, almost fearful eyes. "I guess you're right," he muttered begrudgingly into Jeno's ear, earning a coy smirk from the younger.

Mark sent them both a questioning glance at the exclusive interaction but was quick to brighten up when Jeno beckoned him over with his usual casual endearment.

 

 

  
The tradition continued and even expanded beyond that trite little convenience store.

"I have a track meet this weekend," Mark announced, energy rolling off in unusually large waves, bringing a fond smile to Renjun's face. "It's gonna be a big one since it's the last one for the season and all, and, well, I was wondering if you guys wanted to come watch?"

Renjun startled in tune with Jeno.

There had been a boundary never before crossed with Mark: interacting with him outside these sleepy hours of midnight, beyond these fluorescent lights that bore all the wear and tear they wore on their Siamese faces.

"Uh, this weekend?" Jeno questioned eventually. "As in, _this_ weekend specifically? The whole two days?"

Mark's sparkling eyes and puppy grin were quick to dim upon Jeno's questioning, and Renjun's gut coiled tightly around the icy rod suddenly speared through it. "Ah, well, no. It's only on Saturday if that's what you're asking."

Jeno released a low whistle in reply. "Sorry, hyung, but I already made plans with the shelter to be extra hands for another fundraising project this weekend." He gave a pointed glance toward Renjun, and the unspoken message was delivered painfully clear: _And that makes Renjun down for the count._

And that's when Mark deflated entirely, but he kept the smile on, achingly forced though it was. "Ah, that's okay. I should've known your schedules' by now."

And all Renjun could do was watch as Mark shuffled toward the back and rung up a tub of plain vanilla, at a loss as to what could possibly comfort the elder.

 

 

  
( _"Renjun! I just got a call from the shelter, and they said the project is gonna be delayed to next weekend because there's supposed to be a storm coming on Sunday!"_

Renjun stalled and processed the tinny information.

He gasped.)

 

 

  
Renjun shuffled through the swell of people and eventually settled on a bleacher that sat relatively toward the middle of the track, right at the very top, so he had a bird's eye view of the whole field.

High schoolers of various builds stood in clumps along the outer lines of the track itself. Some stood around with pensive postures swimming against the rising collective noise of the crowd; others were in varying stages of stretches, a thin sheen of sweat spreading against their toned bodies.

And then there was one student, in particular, that stood worlds apart from the rest: Lee Mark.

For whatever reason, he was leaning against the wall that led to the entryway of the boy's locker room. Renjun's vision was too blurry from high altitude winds and overall distance to make out what sort of expression the elder was wearing, but he could make an educated guess and round it up to one of depressive terror.

Renjun wished he could go down there, on the field, and assure Mark that he was going to do wonderfully, and that he had support just across the field, but...

But what?

Nothing was stopping him from approaching the elder; he knew from the simple observation of family members and crowds of friends gathering around a handful of the athletes that he could easily waltz up to Mark, coy and cocky, and relish in the sure astonishment that was to come from his mere presence.

So, what was with the hesitation?

Renjun wasn't able to linger on the thought for much longer, for the shrill whistle of the referee and the crackle of the intercom coming to life signaled that the event was about to start.

Renjun sat at attention and waited.

Waited for Mark to show off the talent he had been so eager to show him and Jeno that night.

 

 

  
The weather report had been wrong.

Anyone with working eyes could tell that the lumbering coal clouds in the near distance were a threat, but nobody wanted to rain on the parade that was already well underway.

Unfortunately, the swollen clouds didn't share the same sentiment.

It was a slight drizzle that the coaches and referees collectively agreed on ignoring. The athletes, already high in tension with competitive spirit and drunk on their own prideful egos, were quick to return to their war against one another.

Mark finally came out in the five hundred meter dash.

By then, the drizzle had turned into a pestering trickle, a constant slap to Renjun's face as the winds picked up speed. The rain-slicked track shone underneath the field lights, and Renjun worried about the probability of someone slipping on the smooth surface in their haste, but the athletes remained unbothered and aggressive, so it was probably going to be just fine. Renjun reasoned out that there was a possibility the students were already used to practicing in less than perfect weather, so it wasn't like a competition was going to blunder their professionalism.

The whistle blew, and the sharp _pop_ of the starting pistol rang through the icy winds, and soon the crowds' shouting were reaching an all new high as the students sped down the concrete track in violent succession. A hierarchy of speedsters soon took their place above the rest: some string-bean kid who fell behind the other two by a good few feet; another no-name that was bulkier and moderately faster than string-bean; and, taking reign of first place was—

"Mark," escaped Renjun as he stared, breathless from awe, at the sheer immensity that contorted the elder's limbs as he pushed himself beyond his absolute limit: legs stretched long and thin above the dampened road; arms moving in pace with his strides, muscles shifting, bulging underneath his undershirt; face taut and focused as heaved breaths made their escape from him in rapid succession.

It was a sight that Renjun could never imagine from an insomniac that sought comfort from buckets of sweetened ice, and it honestly kind of impressed him. Passion could really change someone's everyday behavior, he supposed.

But the spell that had been placed over the both of them—the absolute belief that brief, insignificant victory was right at his fingertips was broken the moment his foot slipped over a puddle that hid underneath the false, shadowed midnight.

The crowd gasped in collective horror, and Renjun's world came crashing down with a sickening _slap_ of broken flesh on concrete.

 

 

  
(The incident imprinted itself behind his eyelids every time he gazed at a raging storm outside his bedroom window; it was fresh and clear on his mind when Mark collapsed onto the store's floor in much the same fashion: defeated and agonized.)

 

 

  
Renjun had developed a keen sense of awareness of Mark after that. He fretted over him in the mildest of ways so that he wouldn't scare him back into his shell that was just a few miscalculated approaches away. He wormed his way into the elder's life so that he never lost his touch; so that his presence stuck true and deep and left a lasting impression.

~~So that he would never be forgotten~~.

(But Mark didn't have to know that, and Renjun most certainly didn't need to be conscious of it.)

As his awareness of Mark refined itself, sudden swelling of deep affections came into play with the elder's existence, and Renjun found himself in a bit of a pickle when noticing the more than platonic gazes that Mark often sent his way. He never figured himself as much of a looker or partner material, so he didn't quite know what to do with the mutual attraction.

So, he did what he figured he did best: play along.

Subtly.

 

 

  
And that method of treading unexplored territory was what brought Renjun here today: closer to Mark than he had ever been—has ever dared to be.

He pulled away slowly, carefully and gazed into Mark's astonished eyes with a quivering, trembling body. The taste of strawberry jam (presumably what the elder had that morning) lingered its essence along the roof of Renjun's mouth, a constant reminder of the action he had taken; the third stance he had ever taken regarding Mark's mental health.

"Wha—!" was the first squawk to exit Mark, wavering and brittle. "You knew I—?"

Renjun nodded slowly as Mark broke himself off. "You're not...exactly subtle about it, hyung." That was putting it mildly, but Renjun figured he shouldn't embarrass Mark any further about his attractions if he wanted to remain in the elder's good graces.

Mark's flush worsened, spreading and darkening all at the same time. "Do you...you know, feel the same, then?"

Renjun refrained himself from rolling his eyes. "I don't exactly go kissing people I don't find attractive, hyung, and I probably wouldn't do it if I didn't at least love them."

Mark gaped before politely tightening his jaw, staring Renjun down with an intense gaze that the younger had never been blessed enough to see until that moment. "You feel that way even after knowing how much of a human disaster I am?"

Renjun shrugged helplessly. "I'm not exactly all that well put together either, hyung."

And they sat there, staring into each other's rawest form, before crossing their gaps and bridges and connecting their lips once again, tenderly, delicately, as a new relationship that was soon to bud and blossom needed to be treated with loving hands.

 

 

  
("We're going to get help, okay?" Renjun murmured into Mark's chest.

Mark breathed in thoughtfully and deep, and Renjun felt the expansion of his lungs tumble against his ribs, and that simple act ran a trill of electricity through the younger's body.

"Okay," Mark murmured eventually, planting a kiss of promise into Renjun's crown.)

 

 

 

The thing about getting help, slowly, surely, carefully, was that it left Mark's stock of ice cream abandoned and at a loss of what to do with themselves.

So, when they were more well put together than they had ever been in the past few years, Mark and Renjun discovered a favorite pastime of theirs that involved the neglected desserts.

 

 

  
"Wanna try a new flavor today?"

Mark looked up from his pint of plain chocolate and raised his eyebrows at Renjun's suggestive smirk. "What were you thinking?" he questioned mildly, heart speeding up in anticipation.

"Butterscotch?"

Mark blinked. "With chocolate?"

Renjun's smirk broadened into a grin. "Not feeling adventurist today?"

"I never said that," Mark muttered against the bowl of his spoon.

Renjun laughed, light and knowledgeable. He shut the freezer door, a pint of butterscotch ice cream cupped between his hands, and took residence on the cushion beside Mark's, but Mark was quick to disagree with the arrangement and set aside his own pint with a huff and clasped his hands on either side of Renjun's waist. Renjun shivered as the ice of the dessert that lingered on Mark's hands dug itself into his thinly layered shirt, before sighing in staged exasperation as the elder power-lifted his entire body comfortably into his lap.

As Renjun gazed down at Mark, unimpressed in the fondest of ways, he noted the content glimmer in the elder's eyes and the crooked grin that spread smooth and even along his conveniently unoccupied lips.

"Impatient today, are we?" Renjun teased familiarly. He reached for the butterscotch and went through the mandatory motions of unpackaging, enjoying the restless rustling that went on below his weight as Mark prepared his chocolate.

Lid and seal off and revealing the powdered tone of the butterscotch, Renjun dipped his spoon into the dessert and brought the leveled cream to his mouth, eyes trailing Mark's mirrored actions.

Ice cream settled comfortably on his tongue, the rich, sugary flavor flowing hot and moist along the roof of his mouth, Renjun shifted himself impossibly closer to Mark, chests flushed against one another, and sent the elder a look: _Are you ready?_

Mark responded easily.

Their open-mouthed kiss was messy, filthy, and delicious.

Mark had overestimated the capacity that Renjun's mouth was able to hold, and his generous spoonful of chocolate dribbled innocently down both of their chins, splattering onto Mark's t-shirt with little complaints from the owner. Renjun was trying not to tremble from the overwhelming sensations and flavors: ice stinging his teeth and sending an electric shock directly to his brain; the delectable, creamy taste of classic chocolate combining with the light, balsamic tang of butterscotch overpowering all other senses.

Their tongues fought hard to push their own share of ice cream into the other's mouth; a constant battle to see who would choke first, either from the dessert going just a tad too far down the throat or from too little oxygen entering their brain.

Mark lost, as was expected by Renjun because he had the ingenious idea to reject the elder's spoonful after feeling the swell of it press against the roof of his mouth.

They parted in a mess of panted breaths that wafted the aftertaste of their affair, recovering from the newly discovered flavor and its endeavors of burning lips and gums.

Once their breathing evened out and the sharp prodding in their brain ceased, they stared into each other's pitch dark eyes.

"I think that one was a winner," Renjun reflected, running his tongue along his stained lips, catching some more of that addictive flavor.

Mark grinned, lazy and fond. "Care to try again for a second opinion?"

Renjun mirrored the elder's expression. "Who am I to deny you, hyung?"

**Author's Note:**

> the pent up hormones that were buried underneath the angst rose up in the end. was anyone honestly surprised?
> 
> edit: i found out that Jisung's the one with the ice cream addiction and feel betrayed that the information wasn't revealed before i pinned the issue onto Mark. (the kid eats more ice cream than me which is a concerning feat.)


End file.
